Anduial
by XTaLoNX
Summary: Glorfindel takes Gilraeth, a young abused boy, under his wing and gains much more than he ever thought possible. Non-slash.
1. The Beginning

Author's notes: This story was mostly created by me, but I could not have figured out where to take it without the help of my good friend, Figwit O'Rivendell, better known as Figgy, Figs, Figmeister, Figgly-Wiggly, or anything else you can make out of the word Fig. =) I luff you, Figgeraloo!!!! *glomptackleroll*  
  
Prologue  
  
Gilraeth watched his father, Gomeir, walk down the road, away from his home. His mother, Gynil, stood with her son, tears in her eyes as she watched her husband leaving. Along with his other war gear, Gomeir carried his most prized possession (as far as inanimate objects go), his sword, Darnithmil. It was an Elven sword, though Gilraeth was never quite sure of that. But he was young, merely eight years old, and so he had not handled a sword as of yet.  
For now, he watched as Gomeir disappeared around the bend in the road, his brown eyes shimmering with un-spilled tears. He knew where his father was going, but he did not know if he would ever return. Though Gomeir had told him to be brave, he found it very difficult to do so as he and his mother turned to go back inside the house.  
For many months, there were rumors of the war, but no information specific on who perished in battle or who was wounded or missing. Gilraeth and Gynil adjusted to life without Gomeir, though with much difficulty. Gynil had always left the raising of Gilraeth to Gomeir, who was an outstanding father. Now she was not sure of what to do with the young, inquisitive, endlessly-hungry boy. With some time, though, she got used to doing things with him that Gomeir would usually do instead. Gilraeth showed her how to fish, and Gynil taught him a few simple recipes.  
They lived this way for nearly a year, and though Gomeir was no longer their center thoughts, the father and husband was never forgotten. Every day, both mother and son took a few moments to pray for his safety in the battlefield and for a swift return home. Both eagerly awaited his homecoming.  
But that hope of his return flickered and died one gloomy day in November. The skies were gray, and the lands were shrouded in a thick mist. As Gilraeth, now nine, ran down the road back home after fetching some ingredients for Gynil, he could not see that the door was already open until he was nearly to it. This was strange, for Gilraeth knew his mother never left the front door open. With caution, he entered, his brown eyes wide and slightly fearful.  
"Mother?" he called, his voice trembling a little as he closed the door behind him. There was no sound at first, but then there came the sound of soft weeping from Gynil's bedroom. Gilraeth laid the food items on the table and quietly went to the room, peeking through a crack in the door, which was somewhat ajar. He saw his mother sprawled upon the bed, her face hidden in the covers, sobbing bitterly. Gilraeth entered the room and silently sat beside her.  
"Mother?" he whispered.  
After a moment, Gynil sat upright, wiping her eyes, sniffling. As she looked at her son, Gilraeth saw the pain and anguish within her hazel eyes. His own brimmed with tears. He had never seen his mother cry before.  
Gynil enveloped her son in a tight embrace, beginning the tears anew. Confused yet empathetic, Gilraeth did not utter a sound, even when the embrace became uncomfortable. Yet he did not have to wait long to be released. He looked at his mother again.  
"What's the matter, mother?"  
Gynil swallowed the lump in her throat, looking Gilraeth in the eye. "Gilraeth." She paused. This was too heartbreaking, but he needed to know. She inhaled deeply and began again.  
"Gilraeth. The captain of your father's army came by today and he - he said that Gomeir was -"  
Gilraeth's brow furrowed, his mouth slightly agape. He already knew what his mother was going to say before she finished.  
"He was killed in battle, Gilraeth."  
Gynil dissolved into tears again as she laid down upon the bed. Gilraeth rose and somberly went outside, his face pale yet emotionless. He stared at the misty ground before him, the same ground his father had tread that fateful day he'd walked away from his home, his family. It had been the last day Gilraeth had ever seen him again. 


	2. The Escape

Chapter One  
  
WARNING: Descriptions of child abuse follow this warning. If this offends you, please skip over this section (not the chapter, though) and continue to the one afterwards.  
  
Gilraeth rushed home as fast as his legs could carry him. His hands often reached up to brush his long red hair from his face. It needed a good trimming, but that was not Gilraeth's primary concern. Glancing up at the sky, his stomach lurched. The sun was nearly set. Trouble surely awaited him back at home.  
Stopping just before the door, Gilraeth came in, panting heavily. He looked up to see his mother's angry face before him. His heart sank - he was too late.  
Gynil seized her son roughly by the chin, digging her fingernails into the skin. Gilraeth did not give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain and kept his face emotionless. His dark brown eyes, though, were deeply hurt and sorrowful. Gynil leaned in, her face nearly touching his.  
"Late again, are we?" she hissed menacingly.  
Gilraeth did not get the chance to answer. She released his chin, but he did not have time to relax. Her heavy hand found his cheek easily enough. Gilraeth recoiled from the blow - a dangerous move on his part.  
Aggravated further by her son's backing away, Gynil took his shoulders and shook him until he was dizzy, yelling.  
"Ungrateful bastard! I've given you everything you needed and how do you repay me?! By being late to the supper I've made for you? Do you know how I bought that food? With my own sweat!!" She began to curse him in every tongue she knew. How long it went on, Gilraeth was unsure. He just wanted it to stop.  
Gynil roughly escorted him to the cellar and shoved him into the dark, cold room. Gilraeth banged harshly into the wall, hitting his head in the same movement. The door slammed as the boy sank to the floor, silent tears streaming down his face. He lay down upon the freezing floor and welcomed the darkness that came to him.  
  
When Gilraeth again opened his eyes, he had no notion of what hour or even day it was. For a moment he forgot where he was. Sitting up and fighting off the awful pounding within his head, he remembered he was thrown in the cellar for being late to supper. A small moan of pain escaped him as he massaged his temples.  
The boy, now eleven, wasn't sure of how much more he could take of living this way with his mother. Ever since his father was killed in battle, she had treated him this way, starting the day after he'd found out the news. Gilraeth had quickly learned not to place his trust in her, for her temper was quick and unpredictable. One moment she was telling him she didn't mean to be like this, and the next she was hitting him for some insignificant reason.  
The sound of a screech owl touched his ears, and he realized it was night. Gynil would be sound asleep. Was his escape still there or had she found it out?  
Crawling upon his hands and kneed, Gilraeth found the corner he sought after and scooted to the right three crawl-steps, as he called them. Then, pressing on the stone, he felt it slide and sighed in relief. His mother had no notion of his escape route.  
He pushed the rest of the stone out and replaced it quickly, crawling up and out of the shallow hole, hidden away by boulders. When he was outdoors, Gilraeth leaped over the boulders and looked around. He had made up his mind - he could not stand another day under his mother's "care".  
But where could he flee to? He didn't have any friends. All the boys of the town jeered at his untidy hair and his dirty clothes, his broken shoes. He had no other family.  
Rivendell. The name flashed in his mind. He remembered his father telling him tales about the land of the Elves. Once he had asked if Imaldris was a real place of Middle-Earth. With the utmost sincerity, Gomeir had told him it was, and was just a two day journey straight east. Gilraeth was sure he could find it easily enough.  
He crept to the other side of the house and entered as quietly as he could. Snatching his pack from his room, he went to the kitchen and filled it with enough food to last him for a few days more than needed, just in case he happened to get lost. He picked up a few items of heavier clothing, grabbed his cloak and shouldered his pack.  
Gilraeth stepped outside once more, closing the door in relief. By the time Gynil realized he was gone, he would already be far off. The boy looked into the night sky. The last quarter moon was setting. Dawn was not far off. Turning away from the moon, Gilraeth started for Rivendell.  
As he reached the boarders of the woods, he turned and looked back at his house. Never again would it be his home. He uttered a small sigh and entered the forest. 


	3. The Lost

Chapter Two  
  
Gilraeth paused underneath a tall oak as dawn came to pass upon the third day of his trek. He'd been told it was a two day journey to Rivendell, straight east, and yet here it was three days since he'd set off from his house and he still had not emerged from the forest. It was a good thing he'd thought to bring extra food in case this happened. Gilraeth looked in his pack, taking out a flask of water and sipping it lightly. He took an apple from his pack, put the water away and shouldered his pack once more before starting off again.  
While the journey had been somewhat adventurous in its own way, Gilraeth had often felt small stabs of loneliness, especially at night when he lay upon a soft spot of ground and stared up at the innumerable stars that twinkled and shone above him. He missed his mother, at least his mother before news of his father's death had reached them.  
His father Gilraeth also longed for. While memories of Gomeir were faint and few, they still lingered there in his heart and always would. He missed the way his father would tuck him into bed at night, in the winter, drawing the covers tightly to his small body. Gilraeth missed the tales by firelight after supper, when they were all filled with good food and had all made themselves comfortable in the sitting room. Gynil would usually sew and listen subconsciously in her rocking chair, while Gomeir and Gilraeth would sit or lie upon the rug. Gomeir would mostly tell his son stories of Rivendell and of the Elves, but sometimes he told him of Halflings in the Shire, or of Ents in Fangorn. Always he portrayed the voices of the characters, making the story exciting for Gilraeth.  
As he came back to reality, Gilraeth noticed he'd strayed from the original path to the east and had veered right, to the south.  
"Maybe that's why I am still in this forest," he thought to himself as he righted his path. "Can't seem to even walk straight."  
He finished his apple and tossed the core aside, licking his slightly sticky fingers. Suddenly, there was a rustle of foliage behind him and the boy whirled around, his brown eyes scanning all around him for any sign of life. For a few moments, there was silence, save for the singing of the songbirds. Gilraeth turned back around, shaking his head.  
"Must be hearing things," he muttered as he adjusted his pack and continued walking. Yet shortly after, he heard more rustling, and what sounded like the great jaws of some animal working, chewing and grinding. A peculiar smell floated upon the air, and Gilraeth thought it faintly smelled of his apple he'd eaten earlier. He turned around again, and still nothing. He scanned the area for many minutes before turning and going off once more.  
  
The sound came no more that day as Gilraeth trekked eastward. Sometimes he softly sang or hummed tunes he'd learned from early childhood to ease his loneliness. For most of the day, however, the boy was silent.  
As the sun sank behind him, the sharp autumn air bit into Gilraeth's skin. He pulled out his cloak and wrapped it around him to ward off the chill, yet even that was not enough to keep him comfortably warm. He stopped to make camp as rain drops began falling from the darkened skies. Gilraeth shivered as his small hands worked to make a fire. The rain kept falling, faster and faster, until there was no hope at all of a fire.  
Frustrated, Gilraeth threw his flint stone into his pack and tried to set up some sort of shelter from the rain. Yet every tactic he tried failed, and by the time he'd given up, Gilraeth was soaked to the skin, shivering in the bitter cold.  
"This is it," he thought. "I'm going to die out here in the freezing rain, alone, in the dark, if the wolves don't eat me first. I almost wish I were home, even if it does mean facing my mother."  
With that, Gilraeth lay down and closed his eyes for what he thought would be the last time. 


	4. The Rescue

Chapter Three  
  
Gilraeth came to conscious thought some days later, though he did not will his eyes to open just yet.  
"I'm alive," he thought. "Where am I? How did I survive? I must be in a bed somewhere. How did I get home?"  
Gilraeth slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times as bright sunlight from a window nearby strayed into them. He heard what sounded like a sigh of relief from his left and turned his head to look. He gasped aloud to see an Elf sitting in a chair next to his bed.  
"I must be dreaming," the boy muttered, lifting his head and squinting at the raven haired Elf, who remained unmoving except for the blinking of his storm gray eyes. He bore a small smile to his face as he continued to look at Gilraeth.  
"That's it, I'm dreaming for sure," Gilraeth said, louder than before.  
"It's not a dream, pen-neth," the Elf finally replied. "You have awoken, much to my relief."  
Gilraeth sat up, resting against the headboard of the bed. He looked all around him. The room was small, but it was cozy and cheery. There was a desk and chair on the other side of the room, and there was a small fireplace, which remained unlit. Gilraeth finally turned to look back at the Elf, who was still watching him.  
"Where am I? And who are you?"  
"You are in Imaldris, or Rivendell, as you may call it. And I am Elladan, son of Elrond, lord of Imaldris."  
Gilraeth finally accepted the fact that he was wide awake, and not in a dream at all as he replied, "I am Gilraeth, son of Gomeir. How did I get here?"  
Elladan replied, "I followed you for quite some way after coming across your trail while I was headed home. After you'd fallen asleep a few nights before, I took you and brought you here. Does that satisfy you?"  
"Wait, you said 'a few nights before'. What do you mean?"  
"Exactly that, pen-neth. You have slept for two days straight. We were beginning to worry for you."  
Gilraeth nodded, looking down at the white linen sheets stretched on the bed. It all made sense now. The Elf, Elladan, had saved his life. He had also finished the journey for him, bringing him to Rivendell. But Gilraeth had not thought about much after that. His only concentrations had been to get to Rivendell as quickly as possible. Now what was he going to do? He could not go back. Would the Elves allow him to stay?  
"What is on your mind, Gilraeth?" Elladan spoke, interrupting his thoughts. Gilraeth jerked his head up.  
"Nothing," he lied.  
Elladan raised his head slightly, his eyes somewhat amused. He did not point out the fact that he knew it was a lie. "Very well. When you are ready, you may come have a meal. My brother, Elrohir, will escort you then." He stood up. "I have other matters to see to."  
Elladan walked towards the door. As his hand turned the knob, Gilraeth called his name softly. The Elf turned and looked back at the small boy.  
"I just wanted to say thank you," Gilraeth told him. "For, you know, saving my life and all."  
Elladan smiled and nodded. "You're welcome, pen-neth." With that, he left Gilraeth's quarters. 


	5. The Connection

Chapter Four  
  
(AN- Much thanks again to Figgy! I could not have done this chapter well without you! *glomptackle*)  
  
As Elladan was leaving Gilraeth's quarters, he narrowly avoided a collision with his father as he opened the door. After the initial surprise had worn off, Elrond and Elladan set off for breakfast, walking side by side down the halls.  
"How is the pen-neth?" Lord Elrond asked of his son.  
"He has awakened," Elladan replied. "His name, he says, is Gilraeth, son of Gomeir. He seems well enough to come to the mid-day meal today. Gilraeth has suffered much."  
"He will recover," Elrond said in a matter-of-fact tone. "The young usually heal more quickly than those who have seen more winters. Soon this will all be but a distant memory, and he will return home."  
"That is not what I meant."  
"What are you trying to say, Elladan? Are you implying that the boy hurts more than he appears to?"  
"In a way, yes. I saw it within his eyes. There is a reason as to why he was out there alone, father. There was a hidden fear, one he will be loath to speak of later."  
The Elves stopped, as if some unseen agreement had passed between them to do so. Familiar gray eyes stared into each other as both father and son tried to understand the other. Elrond was puzzled, but the boy was Elladan's business, not his. He had other matters of importance to attend to.  
"The pen-neth will be under your jurisdiction as long as he remains in Imaldris. He is your responsibility, Elladan. I cannot tend to both him and the other issues in my houses."  
Elladan nodded. "I know this, adar. I knew it from the time I saw him wandering the trails of the forests. He will not pose a problem to your lands. But his future is uncertain. He did not seem interested in returning home. However, all will be revealed in time."  
  
Gilraeth had decided not to bother himself with the outside world just yet. Sleep still wanted him, and so he fell back into the soft bed and slept deeply and undisturbed for many hours. Once, Elladan came to check on him after the mid-day meal and found him asleep. He did not bother the boy. Just as quietly as he had entered, he left.  
It was late in the evening when Gilraeth awoke again. His mind and body felt refreshed, but dull aches within his stomach reminded him of Elladan's invitation for a meal. Yet as he looked out the window and saw that the sun was already halfway into the blackened horizon, he was unsure if the kitchens would still allow him to eat. Furthermore, where were the kitchens in the first place? Hadn't Elladan said something about his brother?  
Gilraeth dressed in the clothes he had worn while on his travels, and he noticed the soils that previously stained the garments had vanished entirely. Smiling to himself, Gilraeth cautiously went out the door and into the hall, closing the door softly behind him. Looking up and down the halls, he caught a glimpse of a raven haired Elf walking away from his quarters.  
"Elladan!" the boy called, running to meet up with him. The Elf hesitated, and then turned as the boy stopped before him. His eyes were a bit colder and glittered like misty jewels in the torchlight.  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked of Gilraeth.  
"It's me, Gilraeth! Don't you remember me, Elladan?" he asked imploringly, confusion welling up within him. Then the light dawned upon the Elf. His eyes softened a bit.  
"Ah, you mistake me for my brother, Elladan. I am Elrohir."  
Gilraeth's brow furrowed, and then smoothed once more as he replied, "You and Elladan are twins?"  
Elrohir nodded silently in answer.  
"Well, all right then. Uh, could you show me the way to the kitchens, please?" Gilraeth asked tentatively.  
"I was on my way there before you stopped me. I shall go with you," Elrohir replied, starting off without another word. Gilraeth hurried to catch up and stay with the quick-paced Elf. Now that he had met both Elrohir and Elladan, he saw the differences in the two. Elladan was much more talkative and friendly, while Elrohir was somewhat more reserved and hid his emotions.  
The trip to the kitchens was short and silent, and Elrohir soon departed from Gilraeth without another word to him. Gilraeth's eyes followed the Elf for a short distance before he came upon Elladan, who sipped a glass of wine with another Elf, both leaning against a counter.  
The Elf Elladan shared company with was tall, but not as tall as the twins. He had blonde hair that looked like a lightning bolt built in battle. His presence seemed to draw the boy to have a deep respect for him, and he approached the two laughing companions with a bit of fear.  
As they stopped talking and looked down at Gilraeth, both smiled, noticing his fear. The Elf Gilraeth did not know set down his empty glass upon the counter, but it was Elladan who spoke first.  
"Do not fear Glorfindel, Gilraeth," he said as he gently pushed his shoulder. Glorfindel laughed and pushed back.  
"Watch your tongue, Elladan!" the blonde Elf replied with a slightly stern yet musical and friendly tone that cheered Gilraeth. The boy smiled and laughed as Elladan winked at him.  
"It is nice to see you up and about, Gilraeth," the obsidian haired Elf smiled warmly. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever get out of bed!"  
"Well, I'm up," Gilraeth replied, shrugging lightly. Glorfindel seemed to be studying the red haired, brown eyed boy with an intense curiosity. Gilraeth met those piercing crystal blue eyes and felt a connection between the two, one he'd never felt before in his life. They were speaking, but not with words.  
Elladan noticed the intensity between the two and slowly stepped away, leaving the Elf and the boy to themselves. Glorfindel seemed to be searching his soul, asking the questions Gilraeth had feared would be asked: why was he alone in his traveling to Imaldris; where was he from; were his parents worried, and so on. And yet as Glorfindel began to find a slight understanding, Gilraeth had no such fear. He felt that he could trust the blonde Elf with nearly anything, even more than he could Elladan.  
At the thought of Elladan, the connection was broken as Gilraeth turned away. Glorfindel, however, assumed the turning away was for another reason, and so silently allowed his thoughts to refocus on something other than the boy. But he had a feeling that even if Gilraeth did return home, they would gain something out of all of this in the end. 


	6. The Failure

Chapter Five  
  
(AN- Thanks to all who reviewed! I really appreciate it when you point out what could be improved and what lines you specifically liked. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like I've just read a story filled with hobbity-cuteness!)  
  
The following day after breakfast, Elladan caught up with Gilraeth as he was heading outside to explore the lands of Rivendell. The boy seemed slightly worried, yet he attempted to hide his true feelings from the Elf by acting nonchalant. Together, Elladan and Gilraeth strolled along a well- worn path within the forest, enjoying each other's company and the sounds of nature.  
Finally, Elladan broke the silence. "So, Gilraeth, what was your reason for coming to Imaldris?"  
Gilraeth hesitated, glancing up at Elladan with nervous brown eyes. He did not exactly want to reveal his troubles to the Elf, who seemed burdened enough. Also, his trust was not fully placed within Elladan's hands, which was not uncommon for Gilraeth. After realizing his mother could no longer be trusted, he seldom went to anybody for support, allowing himself to be his own best friend.  
"It's not a matter of importance," Gilraeth finally replied, which was a downright lie.  
Elladan frowned. "Of course it is. Your situation back at home was obviously desperate enough that you would not find shelter from the rain in your own house."  
"I was lost," Gilraeth answered. "I tried to find my way back when I saw the storm coming but instead got myself even more out of place."  
"Do you take me for a fool, Gilraeth?" Elladan asked.  
"Of course not," the boy answered, glancing up in startled puzzlement.  
"Then why do you lie?" the Elf asked, perhaps a bit too imploringly for the child. Then again, Elladan hadn't dealt with children for many, many years. He did not remember their sensitivity or fragileness, how literally they took words.  
"Why is it your business?" Gilraeth snapped, stopping along the path. His brown eyes were defensive and cold, but Elladan did not notice. He wanted to find out about Gilraeth in order to understand the boy better.  
Elladan said, "If I do not know why you were running from home, I will not be able to help you."  
Gilraeth slowly backed away, not understanding the meaning of his words as he nearly shouted, "I don't need your help! I don't need anybody's help! It is not your concern! Leave the matter alone!"  
With that, Gilraeth turned and fled from a very bewildered Elf.  
  
"I just don't understand," Elladan muttered for what had to be the tenth time that afternoon.  
He sat at the desk in his quarters, his hands in front of him, head bowed, shoulders slumped. The boy had defeated him, this time, and Elladan wanted to make sure that it would not happen again. It wasn't that he wanted to dominate Gilraeth, but to simply overcome his emotional barriers and find out about his past.  
His father sat upon Elladan's bed, staring at the slouched figure of his son. While he, like Elladan, had not dealt with children for quite some time, he remembered what he and Elrohir were like at that age, and understood Gilraeth's point of view completely.  
"Give it time, Elladan. The pen-neth has only just arrived. His trust belongs to no one at this time."  
"It's so difficult. He's been hurt somehow, and I want to know who and how and when."  
"He's young, and afraid," Elrond replied gently. "Young ones like him are fragile. I would not ask him again for awhile. Build his confidence. Be with him often."  
"He does not want anyone's help. He said so himself."  
Elrond smiled and stood, walking over to his son. He placed a strong hand upon Elladan's shoulder.  
"He did not mean it, Elladan. Little ones often do not know the power or the consequences of their words. Let him calm down, and then make amends, at the least."  
After a moment of silence, Elladan finally straightened and turned to look at his father in admiration. "How do you know so much, adar?"  
Elrond grinned broadly. "After suffering through you and your brother? I'm an expert!" 


	7. The Truth

Chapter Six  
  
The next day, Elladan sought out Gilraeth after the mid-day meal. He had not seen the boy at breakfast, or at the table of this meal. The occupants arose and left simultaneously to go do various tasks around Imaldris. Gilraeth was not among them.  
Elladan went to the closed door of the boy's quarters and softly knocked upon the door.  
"Gilraeth? It's Elladan," the Elf called quietly. There was no reply. "May I enter?"  
Still no answer.  
Going against his better judgment, Elladan turned the knob and went inside. He looked around, but the boy was not there. Puzzled, Elladan left and headed outside. Where could the pen-neth have gone?  
He decided to try the path they had been walking along yesterday. As his feet came to tread along the dirt way, he stopped and knelt down to examine the ground. Gilraeth had recently come along this way.  
Encouraged, Elladan continued along the path, following the faint footprints as he went. After a moment, the Elf stopped and listened. The trees rustled uneasily. Elladan glanced up and easily spotted Gilraeth's red hair against the brown trunk.  
"At last," Elladan called up. The boy did not answer him. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd run off to."  
"Why?" Gilraeth snapped. "So you can invade my life some more?"  
Elladan sighed, "That's not why I came looking for you."  
"Then why did you?"  
"So I could apologize," Elladan replied hesitantly. There was silence from above.  
"I'm sorry," Elladan started, feeling rather hopeless. "I did not intend to pry into your life, or become angry. I realize now that you are not ready to reveal such things, pen-neth. Will you forgive me?"  
Stillness came from the trees, and after awhile, Elladan sighed and turned away, beginning to walk back to Imaldris.  
"Elladan."  
The Elf turned to see Gilraeth drop from the lowest branch of the tree and make his way towards him. "I was wrong to anger so quickly as well, but I felt - felt cornered. Trapped without escape. But I apologize as well."  
Elladan smiled and knelt down to the boy's level. "I only wish for your safety and protection, Gilraeth. Do you understand this?"  
Gilraeth simply nodded.  
"And so I promise to keep you safe from harm as long as you remain in Imaldris. You are in my keeping. And may Elbereth curse me if ever I should fail."  
Gilraeth smiled and nodded, wishing that the Elf would simply reach out to embrace him. He longed for and needed Elladan's love, having been cut off from all forms of it for so long. But he did not make his desires known. Instead he and Elladan walked down the path, back home.  
  
Over the course of the next few weeks, Elladan and Gilraeth came to understand one another more and more. Often Elladan and Elrohir would take the boy hunting with them. Gilraeth enjoyed these outings very much, and was always attentive as the brothers showed him the complex art of the hunt.  
When they weren't hunting, Elladan and Gilraeth would often walk together, sometimes in silence, but more often than not, they would talk about various things. Elladan never again pressed Gilraeth about his past, and in doing this, slowly gained the boy's trust.  
One day as the two laid beside a quiet stream, basking in the early autumn sun while they could, Gilraeth sat up, staring into space. Elladan hadn't noticed; he was half-asleep in the soothing rays.  
"Elladan?" Gilraeth called softly.  
The Elf stirred and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering. Finally, they opened and Elladan smiled up at the boy.  
"Yes, pen-neth?" he murmured sleepily.  
"I - I want to tell you something."  
Elladan yawned and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What is it, Gilraeth?"  
The boy looked a bit nervous, and somewhat frightened. Seeing this in his brown eyes, Elladan drew closer to him.  
"Do not fear to tell me, Gilraeth. I will listen and I will not judge. That is not my place. What is on your heart?"  
Gilraeth took in a deep breath and bit his lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't know how to start," he said quietly.  
"Take your time."  
After a few moments of silence, Gilraeth started in:  
"My father was killed in battle when I was nine. After the day my mother and I received news, her spirit fled. She turned evil."  
Here he paused, unsure of how to tell him more. Gilraeth searched the Elf's face. He found curiosity, but also understanding, pain, and sympathy. Elladan did not speak, and the boy only admired him more for this.  
"W-well, I lived with her up until a few months ago. I couldn't take it anymore."  
"Couldn't take what, Gilraeth?" Elladan asked softly. His storm gray eyes met the boy's brown eyes. The message within Elladan's was, "Trust me." Tears sprang to the back of Gilraeth's eyes.  
"The - the - I couldn't take her and her . . .abuse," he finally choked out, the tears rolling down his face.  
Elladan sat in shock. Abuse? This boy's own mother had been abusing him?  
"She . . . she's very strict," Gilraeth continued. "If I do anything wrong she'll usually . . . hit me. My room b-became the cellar. I hardly ate . . ."  
By then, the tears were falling down the faces of both Elf and child. Elladan wished this all weren't the truth, but why would the boy lie about something like this? Without warning, Gilraeth flung himself upon Elladan and dissolved into tears. Surprised, yet entirely sympathetic, Elladan's arms slowly came to wrap themselves around the boy's small, shaking form.  
Everything made sense. Now Elladan had a greater reason to follow through with his promise to protect the boy, not only from his mother, but from the memories of his past treatment.  
Slowly, Gilraeth's sobs quieted and his grip lessened, allowing himself to melt into Elladan's arms.  
"Gilraeth . . ." Elladan said softly. "It's all right, pen-neth. I am here. No one will hurt you again, I promise."  
There was only a sniffle for a response.  
"I promise," the Elf repeated with more firmness. "I promise." 


	8. The Accident

Chapter Seven  
  
(AN- Thanks again to those who reviewed! It really helps me out! Here's some responses:)  
  
ROCHWEN - *peers also into your mind and arches a brow* Well . . . you don't exactly want to see mine either. lol thanks much!!  
  
TIGERLILY713 - Interesting? As in good, right? lol!  
  
The day was clear and slightly chilly as Gilraeth lay upon a hill, covered in thick green grass, by himself. He gazed up at the billowing white clouds that drifted and sailed over him. For once since he'd come here, Gilraeth was actually enjoying this bit of solitude. More often than not, he preferred the company of Elladan or Glorfindel. But today it had been different. He was sure that Elladan and Elrohir were enjoying their time together as well, without him.  
Not far away, the twins were within the densely wooded forest. Elrohir sat, perched on the limb of a high tree, a notched arrow in his bow drawn to his cheek. His eyes were focused on both his prey, a doe that browsed upon the forest floor, and Elladan's hand. It was raised, palm facing him, ready to sweep down at the perfect moment and give Elrohir the signal to shoot.  
Elrohir let his eyes slip away to the left. It was true that he had great patience, but Elladan's hand had not wavered for a long time. How much longer would he have to wait?  
The winds changed subtly, sending the twins' scent to the deer. Her head snapped up, her large brown eyes staring at Elladan. With easy strides, the doe left the would-be hunters.  
Elrohir's eyes came back to where they should've been just as Elladan dropped his hand and turned to face his brother in defeat. Elrohir let the arrow fly, and Elladan glanced up much too late at the sound of the whizzing of the arrow. In the next second, he was struck to the ground with a cry of agony, the arrow stuck deeply within his chest.  
Elrohir quickly put away his bow and leaped to the ground, absorbing the shock without a care. He dropped to his knees at Elladan's side, panting lightly. His eyes widened at what he saw. The shaft was in his chest nearly halfway, and Elladan was writhing on the ground, his face contorted with pain. Elrohir placed a trembling hand upon his brother's forehead.  
"Lie still, Elladan," he told him softly, yet urgently. Within a few moments, Elladan ceased his struggling and rested somewhat quietly, his breaths coming in short gasps. His storm gray eyes were wide with fear.  
"Stay here. I'm going for help," Elrohir said as he drew his cloak around Elladan. He stood up and took a moment to get his bearings before running as swiftly as he could for Imaldris.  
  
A few minutes later, he emerged from the forest in a dead sprint. He bounded up the hill where Gilraeth laid, passing him without a second glance. Bewildered, the boy stood and ran after him, but he was no match for the Elf's panicked pace. Nevertheless, he finally caught up to Elrohir, out of breath. His curiosity, however, had not diminished in the least.  
Elrohir was hurriedly explaining something to Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, his normally stern gray eyes wide and fearful. Finally, Gilraeth caught Elrond saying, "Then let us waste no time. Come!"  
Glorfindel and Elrohir half-ran past Gilraeth, but Elrond stopped beside the boy. "You should come as well, Gilraeth."  
"What's happened, Lord Elrond?" Gilraeth asked, his voice quivering.  
"Elladan is hurt," he replied. "I can only hope we do not come too late. Hurry, now."  
Together, they rushed into the forest, following the faint sounds of Elrohir and Glorfindel as they made their way through the brush. They came upon a sight that made all hearts lurch.  
There laid Elladan, now shivering violently from the blood loss, Elrohir's spent shaft within his chest. Elrohir held his brother, shedding silent tears. Glorfindel knelt on the left side of Elladan, smoothing the brow dampened with sweat. Gilraeth stood off to one side, dumbfounded and in shock.  
Elrond wasted no time. He knelt beside Elladan, quickly assessing the situation. The arrow was in deeply. Should he try to pull it out? Would that only cause more bleeding and pain? He talked to himself in the Elvish tongue to calm himself down. There was still enough time to save his son if he worked quickly.  
Gilraeth sniffled beside him, "Will he be all right?"  
"He will live, pen-neth. Worry not," Elrond muttered hastily. His hand closed upon the intruding arrow before he looked to Elrohir.  
The son of Elrond shook his head. "Nay, adar. It is an Elvish arrow."  
This made Elrond feel slightly better. It seemed to be a sign that it would turn out in their favor. He took another arrow from Elrohir's quiver and snapped it in half. He placed it between Elladan's chattering teeth.  
"Bite hard," he said. Again his hand closed around the shaft as he took in a shuddering breath.  
Elrohir bent forward and listened as Elladan whispered something in his ear for a moment. Glorfindel looked on at the brothers, his brow furrowed. Elrohir's head snapped up as Elladan finished, his storm gray eyes wide with disbelief. But Elladan's gaze was steady as he nodded solemnly. Elrohir again bent forward, his eyes closed tightly as the two touched foreheads and wept silently.  
After a moment, Elrohir straightened and took his father's hand that was closed around the shaft. Elrond glanced up in surprise.  
"No, adar," Elrohir objected. "He told me . . ." He swallowed hard before continuing, fighting back tears. "He said that he feels that it is his time now."  
  
Elrond slowly let go of the arrow and looked at his helpless son. "Are you sure, ion-nin? I-I can try. . .there is still time."  
Had he not been his son, Elrond would have told Elladan the truth. But he knew, deep within, that there was nothing more that could be done.  
Elladan managed a weak smile for his father. "We both know what is going to happen, father. I am sure." He gazed around at his family, even Gilraeth. The human boy had long felt like a son to him, and he hated to leave him. The boy was still unsure of himself, and still needed guidance and counseling. If not him to give it, then who?  
Elladan motioned for the sniffling boy to come to him. Gilraeth stepped over and knelt down to where Elrohir once had been. The Elf now sat cross legged in front of Elladan, whose head was in his lap. Elrohir's gentle hands drew the raven black hair away from Elladan's face and stroked his forehead. Gilraeth felt the brotherly love between them, and then looked back at Elladan  
"Gilraeth . . ." Elladan whispered, his eyes softening at the boy. "Remember that promise I made to you, to always protect you?"  
Gilraeth nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I will not hold it against you now that you are unable to uphold it."  
Elladan smiled and then looked to Glorfindel. "Glorfindel, I give the pen-neth to your keeping, if you will accept."  
Glorfindel nodded with tears in his bright blue eyes. "I will care for Gilraeth, Elladan. I swear it to you."  
Elladan looked back at the boy to see how he was with this, and Gilraeth nodded his approval. Elrond also nodded. With a small sigh, Elladan lay back into Elrohir's lap and closed his eyes once more. Elrond looked on at his sons, having more pity for Elrohir than himself or the others. It had been his misdoing that caused Elladan's death, after all. But it seemed, for the moment, that all was right between them, and that there was no anger or guilt.  
Then he heard Elladan choke on his breath. Everyone glanced at him, save for Elrohir. He knew what was happening, and he didn't want to watch his brother die. His eyes were squeezed shut.  
Elladan took in a quick gasp and held the breath for many moments, or so it seemed. He slowly exhaled in silence through his mouth and lips, his spirit escaping with his breath. His heart faltered and stopped.  
Elladan was gone. 


	9. The Healing

Review replies:  
  
CANTORA: Well, tell Elly-D I say hello!  
  
LOBO DIABLO: Why? I'll tell you . . . I don't know. =)  
  
NERWEN: See above. =D  
  
FIGGY: Yes, you're absolutely right. Ramen is nasty crap. *nod nod* Cover  
Elly-H's eyes.don't let him look!  
  
ANTIGONE Q: Thanks; others noticed that arrow thing, too. Sorry about the  
confusion.  
  
ROCHWEN: *sighs and shakes head* Well thanks for letting me borrow angsty  
Elrond . . . *glances at your mind suspiciously.*  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
For the next few weeks, the houses of Elrond grieved, and the lands were shrouded in darkness. Hardly was there a cheerful face to be seen as one walked through the deserted halls, if there was a face to be seen at all. A sad and anguished mood had fallen and settled upon the Elven lands.  
But in time, emotions healed, and hurts slowly grew less painful. After much time, Imaldris began to brighten and bloom once more. There were smiles and laughter once again. Even Lord Elrond could be seen with a few grins upon his face, and more often as the days passed.  
Gilraeth had slowly come out of his grief, but not without much pain. But soon enough he was enjoying the things he once did. The time he would've normally spent with Elladan was now being shared with Glorfindel. The two took comfort in each other and helped to heal the other. About three months after Elladan's passing, everyone seemed to have moved on.  
Everyone, that is, except for Elrohir. His guilt was still as fresh as the day he'd held his dying brother in his arms. Most of his time was spent shut up in his quarters, and he seldom came out for any reason. When he did reveal himself, he did not speak to any. Only his storm gray eyes revealed his pain.  
Missed meals and lack of sleep took a toll on the Elf, and it definitely showed. His face was gaunt, tear streaked, and colorless. His robes hung loosely around his thin body. His strength dwindled until the simplest tasks took him great effort.  
Elrond had expected his living son's grief to be greater than his own, but never did he imagine Elrohir would carry on with it for so long. Nor did he expect his body to suffer as it did. If Elrohir did not overcome his grief, Elrond feared it would claim his life.  
  
One chilly day, Glorfindel walked between the trees of the forest in solitude. It was the very same forest where Elladan had died. Glorfindel had not visited it since that time, and whatever was left of his grief fled as nature's beauty cleansed the dark memories he held of this place.  
Suddenly, he stopped upon hearing a faint tune coming from the trees. The Elf listened intently, his blue eyes darting around the treetops. It was the clear voice of an Elf, but the melody was haunting and sad, the voice filled with longing and pain. The tune spoke of one lost, and the desire for the prodigious one to return. Glorfindel knew at once who the singer was.  
Tracking the chilling song, Glorfindel traveled further into the heart of the wood. The voice was growing louder as Glorfindel came nearer. He stopped as the voice came from directly above him. It faltered and stopped, and there was silence again.  
"Elrohir," Glorfindel called up, his eyes peering through the branches. Elrohir was perched upon the very same branch he'd sat upon when he'd let loose the fatal arrow that day. His cold gray eyes looked down at the Elf lord, but he did not utter a sound.  
"I'm coming up," Glorfindel said as he gripped the lowest branch and swung himself up into the tree. With little effort, Glorfindel was soon crouched on a branch opposite of Elrohir.  
"How did you climb up so fast?" Elrohir asked rather tonelessly.  
Glorfindel shrugged lightly. "It's rather simple . . . if one has been caring for themselves."  
At this, Elrohir turned his head away. "I do care for myself."  
Glorfindel arched a brow. "I beg to differ, young prince. I know very well what is happening."  
"How can you know?" Elrohir spat angrily. "Elladan was not your brother!"  
"I'm aware of that, Elrohir," Glorfindel retorted icily. "But it has been nearly two seasons since his passing. Let it go."  
"It's not that simple!" Elrohir replied with growing anger, his head turning to look back at Glorfindel. "You can tell me to let go, but you do not know how I feel."  
"Of course I do. The loss was felt by all."  
"But does anyone know what it feels like to know that you killed your own brother?!" Elrohir roared, sitting straight up, his eyes blazing fury.  
For a moment, all was silent. The two Elves stared at each other - one with anger, the other with compassion. And then Elrohir leaned back, resting his head upon the tree trunk, his closed eyes shedding multiple tears.  
Glorfindel leaped the distance between the two branches easily and gathered the shaking Elf in his arms tightly. He started for the ground.  
  
As both pairs of feet touched upon the forest floor, Elrohir sank to his knees, staring at the spot where his brother had died.  
"It was here . . . I killed him here," he whispered. Glorfindel sighed lightly and placed a hand upon Elrohir's shoulder.  
"You must not carry this guilt around as you have been, Elrohir. Elladan would not want you to suffer so. He knew it was an accident."  
"But if I-"  
"Elrohir, what's done is done. You cannot think about what could have or should have been. You must forgive yourself. Your father couldn't bear to lose another son."  
Elrohir remained silent, his head bowed. He turned Glorfindel's words over in his mind. The questions still remained, yet the Elf lord's final statement had driven home. What would happen to his father, Arwen, Gilraeth, Erestor, Lindir, and Glorfindel, should he die in his anguish? He would rejoin his brother, yet he would leave behind so much sorrow.  
The light finally dawned on Elrohir as his head rose and his eyes looked straight ahead. He had been dwelling on the past instead of looking forward, blaming himself far too often. And yet a twinge of guilt still remained. He always seemed to hurt those he loved the most. First Elladan, and then his people when he'd withdrawn himself from the world.  
"Elrohir."  
Glorfindel's soft call brought him back to reality. He stood and turned to face Glorfindel, his eyes still somewhat pained, and yet less so than before. He'd brought the Elven prince back from the brink of death.  
"I've been a fool," Elrohir said in shame. He dropped his head, unable to meet Glorfindel's piercing gaze.  
Glorfindel took Elrohir's chin gently in his hand and lifted his head.  
"Worry not, son of Elrond. All is forgiven. Return to a life you once knew, and face it with courage. There are still some in Imaldris who blame you, but you must not pay them heed."  
Elrohir nodded. "I am ready to face a life without my brother. And yet . . . he is still with me." A smile broke onto his face as he spoke, the first genuine smile since Elladan's passing.  
"He is still with me."  
  
As Elrohir and Glorfindel passed into the heart of Imaldris, they were met with a few stares and whispers, mostly directed at Elrohir. One particularly outspoken man, a guest of Elrond, stepped up with a sneer crossed over his face.  
"So how does the son of Elrond feel about murdering his very own brother?"  
Elrohir stopped and glared at the brown haired, hazel eyed man. He'd been called many a name before, but never . . . never murderer. Glorfindel placed a strong hand on his shoulder, knowing Elrohir's temper was flaring.  
"No, Elrohir," he murmured into his ear.  
"So, he has to have someone with him at all times to make sure it doesn't happen again," the man mused. Elrohir's eyes blazed with hatred, but it was Glorfindel who spoke.  
"How dare you say such things?" his commanding voice boomed, causing all within earshot to stop and listen. "You are a guest here, and you are expected to show the utmost respect for the Lord Elrond and his sons and all the rest who allow you to stay in the first place. I have the power to evict you without Lord Elrond's consent."  
The man sneered. "And you believe this will insult me?"  
"How is it you were allowed to even set foot within Imaldris? How is it that you claim to be a guest of Elrond and yet publicly disgrace his son? I order you out of Imaldris, immediately. And may Elbereth have no mercy upon you if we find you otherwise shortly."  
With a last defiant glare, the man turned and stalked off, parting the crowd of Elves that had gathered to watch the scene. Elrohir slowly relaxed and turned to Glorfindel.  
"You shouldn't have held me back."  
Glorfindel smiled at this. "No, I suppose maybe I shouldn't have. A sound beating is no more than he deserves. But do not be too quick to deal out judgment, son of Elrond. Sometimes a little mercy is well rewarded."  
"And what if it isn't?"  
Glorfindel shrugged as his Elf-eyes saw the man ride out of Imaldris upon his horse.  
"That I have no answer for." 


	10. The Reminiscence

Review responses:  
  
CANTORA: I suppose it is. I haven't really thought of it. It's just supposed to be  
some random time. But oh well; you asked for Gilly, I give you Gilly! BUAH!  
  
ROCHWEN: *sigh* Ah, the ever-simple mind of Dev . . . *rolls eyes and grins*  
  
(AN- Sorry for the shortness of this chappie, but I promise the next one will be  
much much longer . . . and better. *wink*)  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Glorfindel softly knocked on Gilraeth's door, his blue eyes full of concern. The boy had not been to breakfast, or the mid-day meal. It was not often that he missed a meal. Usually the pen-neth was early, and always quite hungry when he showed up. But today he had not even been out of his quarters at all.  
"Gilraeth?" Glorfindel called. There was silence, and then the sound of rustling sheets caught his ears.  
"Come in," replied a quiet voice.  
Glorfindel entered his room to find Gilraeth sitting halfway up in bed, the covers drawn around him tightly. His brow was damp with sweat, Glorfindel noticed he moved closer, and his face was pale. Glorfindel felt the boy's forehead. It was warm, but nothing more than a low grade fever. However, the Elf captain was still concerned as he took a seat in a chair beside the bed.  
"Do you feel all right, Gilraeth?" he asked of the boy.  
"Maybe a little tired, yes," Gilraeth replied, "but nothing more."  
"Are you hungry?"  
He shook his head in response.  
"I'll bring you some tea anyway. You could do with a bit of something in your stomach."  
Glorfindel stood up and walked out of Gilraeth's room, closing the door behind him. How could the boy possibly have fallen ill, when it is impossible for Elves to become sick themselves? Surely he could not have contracted something from Imaldris.  
Yet he did not dwell on the matter for long. Gilraeth would be back on his feet in a few days, Glorfindel reasoned. Whatever this was would not last long.  
  
As Glorfindel was returning with the tea, he spotted Elrohir and Elrond walking together in the gardens a few stories bellow. They were enjoying each other's company, and Elrohir seemed to nearly be himself again. His frame had filled out to its original form, and his face was round and had regained its color. All in all, Elrohir had made a nice recovery.  
Smiling to himself, Glorfindel walked on until he came once again to Gilraeth's door. He knocked again, but this time there was no answer. Glorfindel went in and found the boy asleep. The tea would lose its potency if left to sit, so Glorfindel made his exit and went on to the Hall of Fire.  
Entering the familiar, cozy room, Glorfindel sat in an armchair near the fire and stared out the window. He sipped the tea thoughtfully, his mind wandering.  
He thought of the twins together, years before, when he was in charge of part of their teaching. He schooled them in the art of horseback riding, at which Elrohir was a natural. Elladan usually had a spill or two during a lesson.  
He also taught them sword fighting, where the tables turned. Elladan had quickly picked up the skill, while his brother usually came away with a few cuts at the end of a session.  
Glorfindel smiled and set the empty cup upon the saucer and set his eyes to the fire. The flames danced, and the wood popped and glowed. A feeling of great peace was upon the captain as he settled back into the armchair.  
It was the first true peace he'd felt since Elladan's death. 


	11. The Illnesses

Review responses:  
  
ROCHWEN: Well, darling, you must admit, you do tend to have a one- track mind,  
ya know? o,O  
  
CANTORA: Yes, I know Dan ish still dead. I hope you recover soon, darling.  
*feeds you a get better potato* Yes, potato. *glares at Dev* Much better for  
you than cookies. You know, I never really considered where I'd take this  
after Anduial ended. That's a good idea. I'll keep it in mind. Thanks.  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
"My lord? My lord! Lord Elrond!"  
Elrond's eyes fluttered for a moment, unwilling to see anything more than the inside of their lids. But at another urgent call from someone who seemed miles away, they finally snapped open. Erestor was standing above him, his face tired but anxious. Immediately, Elrond had sat straight up in his bed. A quick glance out the window told him that it was still very early in the morning.  
"What is it Erestor? It isn't Elro-"  
"No, my lord. It is not your son. It is Gilraeth. He has fallen deathly ill during the night. Glorfindel sent me to tell you. He is very worried . . ."  
Elrond rolled out of bed, instantly awake. Pulling on a cloak to ward off the early morning chill, he followed his advisor down the halls to the boy's quarters. Entering the room, Elrond came upon Glorfindel sitting in a chair beside Gilraeth's bed. His dark figure was slumped forward, his eyes focused on the form that was lying in the bed. His attention did not waver from the boy as Erestor and Elrond entered.  
Just then, Elrohir stepped in, looking worried. Lord Elrond glanced at his son in brief surprise. Usually Elrohir did not bother with the boy, at least, as far as he knew.  
Elrohir whispered, "I heard the voices in the hall. I could not sleep this night, anyway," he added hastily as his father's concerned gaze fell upon him. "The air seemed too troubled for sleep. And now I know why."  
Silence followed the prince's statement, but not for long. Elrond quickly went to Gilraeth's side and examined him. His body was hot with fever, his skin pale and clammy. The boy was unresponsive, and clearly not just sleeping. He took shallow, labored breaths, and his lips and mouth were very dry.  
As he finished looking Gilraeth over, Elrond was very troubled. "I have no notion of the illness he carries. My knowledge rests within wounds. There has never been need to heal a sickness."  
At this, every face, save for Gilraeth's, fell. Glorfindel looked as if the world were ending then and there. Elrohir seemed disappointed, and Elrond briefly wondered if he was thinking back to when he could not save Elladan so long ago. Erestor was grim. His advisor had a soft spot for the pen-neth that Elrond had been unaware of.  
It seemed he'd been unaware of many things lately. Hadn't Glorfindel expressed concern over the boy's failing health?  
To ease their minds, Elrond added, "But I will do what I can for him."  
  
The next morning, Glorfindel had not moved from his chair. He did not feel the fatigue his body was experiencing, nor the pangs of hunger that rolled in his stomach. His thoughts were fixed solely on Gilraeth. He felt responsible somehow. Gilraeth was in his keeping, and it was his duty to be sure the boy was cared for. And now he was nearly at death's door.  
"Please . . ." Glorfindel whispered in a prayer. "Please let him be spared. Do not take him from us . . . from me. Not now. Let him live. Little ones are not meant to die. Spare him."  
His prayer, however, seemed to be in vain. The Elf captain doubted that Elbereth even had heard him. But unbeknownst to him, another pair of listening ears had.  
  
For the next few days, Glorfindel refused to move from his spot. Elrond, Elrohir, and Erestor had resorted to bringing the captain's food to Gilraeth's quarters for him, but he rarely ate. He only sat silently in their presence, staring at the pen-neth solemnly. He was inconsolable, deaf to any comforting words his friends had to offer.  
When he was alone, he would often sing to Gilraeth, trying to call him back out of the darkness with his clear voice emitting the words of the fair Elven tongue. Sometimes he offered prayers to the Valar and to Elbereth, but always he felt that they were of no use. They did not seem to hear the desperate Elf, just as Gilraeth did not hear the songs for him.  
Glorfindel began to despair as the days wore on and Gilraeth steadily grew worse. Elrond tried everything he could to help the boy, but nothing worked. Still, the Elf lord would not give up. This was mostly for Glorfindel's sake, but also for his own sanity. Sometimes he was reminded that he had been too late for Elladan. But he would not be too late for Gilraeth, he vowed. Not this time.  
  
Two weeks after Gilraeth had fallen ill, Elrohir went in to check on him. Actually, he was more concerned for Glorfindel, but he would see how both were holding up anyway. He did not bother to knock. He knew Glorfindel would not respond. Elrohir came in and was shocked at what he saw as he did.  
Glorfindel was not in the chair, but face-down on the floor, motionless. Thinking the worst, Elrohir knelt down and turned the captain over on to his back. He felt for a pulse, and, to his great relief, found it. Yet it was weak and sluggish. Elrohir could not waste any more time here. Glancing up at the boy, he took Glorfindel in his arms and hurried to the healing wing. He set the captain upon a bed in an empty room and went to find his father.  
  
"Thank the Valar you found him when you did, Elrohir."  
It was the night after Glorfindel had been found in Gilraeth's room upon the floor. Lord Elrond had been summoned at once, and thanks to his quick and powerful skills, Glorfindel was on the mend. But he had not suffered a physical wound.  
"Adar, you never did say what ailed Glorfindel," Elrohir replied quietly, looking on at the captain as he slept.  
"His heart was breaking. I suppose it is because of the pen-neth," Elrond replied to his son. At the mentioning of Gilraeth, he sighed heavily. Weeks had passed, and the boy was still no better than before. It was a waiting game. Would the sickness take the small child, or would his hardy, strong will outwit it and put him on the road to recovery?  
Elrohir sighed lightly as well, also thinking of Gilraeth. While he was never directly involved with the human child, he had been precious to his brother, and so Elrohir had helped in raising him. He felt that he owed it to Elladan in some way.  
"Let us hope both Gilraeth and Glorfindel will recover soon." 


	12. The Memory

Review responses:  
  
CANTORA: No, that would be waaaaaaaay too easy! You gotta build some  
suspense! A little drama! *sigh* Eh, I suppose I could start doing that time  
thingy. *nod nod*  
  
ROCHWEN: Don't worry, your Glorfy will be perfectly safe! *pat pat*  
  
(AN- Feh...sorry for the crappiness. Next one will be better, I promise!)  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
While the world continued to turn without him, Gilraeth lied in darkness alone, where evil memories and dreams returned to him. He thought he'd forgotten these, but they proved him wrong time and time again as each came over him like a wave. They'd wash over the boy and then recede, leaving little strands of themselves for him to mull over before giving Gilraeth to the darkness once more. And so the process went as he became more and more ill.  
One dream in particular enjoyed tormenting his little mind; it was of a time when he was ten, and Gynil's abuse was nothing new to him. It was the worst experience with his mother in his short life. Usually he could expect some kind of punishment even when he'd done nothing wrong. But when it even remotely seemed like something was his fault, hell had no fury like Gynil when she found out.  
  
Gilraeth had been trudging back home through the town, minding his own business. It had been a mild day, and there had been hardly a breeze to be felt. Gilraeth had been keeping his eyes down, staring at the dirt road ahead of him. He had just gotten to the outskirts of town when someone had yelled, "Oy! Gil-smelleth!"  
Startled, Gilraeth had looked up and seen a group of boys headed his way. Gilraeth's heart had sunk - he knew them. They were always poking fun at him. Gilraeth had moved on.  
"Do not walk away from me!" the leader had shouted, making a run for him. Too late, Gilraeth had glanced over his shoulder and was immediately knocked to the ground. Panicked, he'd begun to fight against the fists that came for his stomach and head, where they would not leave evidence. Gilraeth, however, had been furious was not paying attention to where his fists flew. All he knew then was that someone had pulled them apart and held them back.  
"What is the meaning of this?" a man's gruff voice had accused. "Speak!"  
But before Gilraeth could've defended himself, the rest of the boys were defending their leader, making Gilraeth the guilty culprit.  
"Is this true?" the man had asked of Gilraeth.  
It had been then when Gynil came around and found him. Gilraeth's brain had screeched to a halt as she roughly took him back home. Then all he remembered was the sound of his mother's blows falling on him, the searing pain, and finally darkness as his mind remembered no more.  
  
The memory drew back as Gilraeth came to the present. He reminded himself of who and where he was to keep his sanity after the dreams had come and gone.  
"I am Gilraeth, son of Gomeir, and I am in Imaldris in the care of the Elf, Glorfindel," he thought to himself for the umpteenth time since he'd fallen ill.  
Gilraeth knew he had not been getting any better. But today seemed different. The pain and fatigue were not quite as strong as they once were. He felt less weak. Maybe today he would wake. Or maybe he would not wake at all.  
The thought chilled him to the bone. What would the Elves do if they lost him? What would Glorfindel do? He'd be heartbroken. Gilraeth could not let his family down. Yes, his family. No longer would he live among men until he was of an age to care for himself, Elladan had promised him, long, long ago. Gilraeth realized he'd told him that the same he had died.  
  
Gilraeth sorely missed his first Elven caregiver. Though his grieving was well over, it still did not fill the hole in his heart. Glorfindel and the rest were very supportive, but even Elrohir, who was a mirror of Elladan, could not come close to who Elladan had been. Of course, Gilraeth realized, no one ever would, nor could.  
But he could not dwell on Elladan. He had to focus and bend all his thought onto getting well again. Glorfindel needed him, even if the Elf- lord wouldn't admit it. But Gilraeth did not know what he would come to need Glorfindel more than ever before very soon. 


	13. The Changes

Review responses:  
  
Cantora: Fluffy?! Buah, Fluffy is a fruitcake. My lighter will rule the world!  
  
Rochwen: *sigh* For the last time, I am not a sheep!!!!!  
  
Lizz, Rou, Andy: Thank you very much. Ask Figgeh if you want to know how  
I thought this up. Fig was a great help to me and still is. *gives thank you taters  
to Figgy*  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
Glorfindel awoke three days after Elrohir had found him in Gilraeth's room on the floor. Early morning was upon Imaldris, and the lands were shrouded in a thick mist that hung low between the trees and hovered above the dew-covered grass. The sunshine had not risen far enough to stream into Glorfindel's quarters in the healing wing. His blue eyes opened to the world once more as his mind slowly came to remember what happened. A quick glance around the room told him of where he was, but how had he gotten there? Where was Gilraeth? Was the boy any better?  
Glorfindel's attention snapped to the door as he heard the knob turn. Within a few moments, Elrohir stepped through the door and closed it behind him softly, keeping his eyes averted from the Elven lord. It was almost as if he were afraid that Glorfindel had turned into some mutation during the night and he did not wish to look at him. But it was only the fear that something far, far worse had happened.  
But as Elrohir's eyes came to rest upon him, relief flooded through his face as he saw that the Senecshal was awake. Elrohir smiled tiredly, and Glorfindel then noticed that the prince's eyes were worn and burdened, his face unnaturally older, as if he'd aged overnight about 3,000 years.  
"Glorfindel . . ." Elrohir trailed off softly, coming over to his bedside. Glorfindel weakly returned the smile as Elrohir sank into a chair next to him.  
"Why is the son of the Peredhil so weary?" Glorfindel asked somewhat hoarsely. He cleared his throat and waited for Elrohir's answer.  
Elrohir was considering the question carefully, meanwhile. Glorfindel did not need added stress now. He would come to the truth when he was strong enough. Forcing a brighter smile onto his worn face, Elrohir replied, "Tis nothing, Glorfindel. The hours have been late, the nights restless, but soon there should be peace for me again."  
Glorfindel looked reprovingly at Elrohir, but did not say he knew otherwise. Instead, he remained silent and settled back into the soft bed with a sigh, resting his eyes. Elrohir slightly arched a brow at the sigh Glorfindel emitted. How had it been meant? Or perhaps a better question was how was he supposed to take that? Was he content? Anxious? Or something else?  
Elrohir shook his head and turned in his chair to gaze out at the rising sun. Many thoughts came through his mind as he let it wander. Glorfindel was on the mend, and would soon want to have news of Gilraeth. What could he possibly tell him? The poor pen-neth was no better than before. It had nearly broken his heart once. Elrohir did not want that to ever happen again.  
But Glorfindel loved that human child as if he were his own son. Elrohir was not sure on how the boy felt, but watching them together gave him half of a clue about it.  
  
Elrond paced Gilraeth's quarters, occasionally glancing at the still form of the boy who barely clung to life. The Peredhil had to admit it - he never thought Gilraeth would fight for this long. But his strength was fading fast, and he was growing worse. Perhaps not by the day, but it was a sure decline that Elrond only prayed would not lead to his death.  
He could not lose this child. He had lost his own because he was too late, and now even he had not the skill to heal the human entirely. Elrond could not lose Gilraeth. He would not allow it to happen.  
As the thought flitted across his mind, a sarcastic voice sneered in the back of his head, "And how are you going to prevent it? Do you think you hold that authority?"  
Stopping in the middle of the room, Elrond closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to gain composure over himself. He could not lose control over his own mind. He had to maintain a level head and stay focused on getting the pen-neth well again. Anger coursed through him as freely as his blood ran through his veins. Anger for himself. Anger for Elbereth and the Valar for keeping him like this for so long. He even held anger for those who did not deserve it.  
Elrond longed to run around screaming, flailing, throwing everything he could find. He wanted to strike something, anything, again and again. He just wanted to lose his mind if only for a few moments of unbridled anger and distress. But he couldn't. He was lord of Imaldris. His people looked to him for leadership and strength. He could not fail them, not even for an instant.  
But it did not resolve his anger. Looking up at the ceiling and seething harshly, he breathed, "Good Elbereth, hasn't he suffered enough?! He is only a child! A child! And still he lies on the brink of death!"  
Talking out loud seemed to help Elrond a bit, and so he kept going after a short pause to look at the boy.  
"We need him back, do you hear me? Glorfindel needs him! Elrohir needs him! I need him! Gilraeth must live! Without him, Glorfindel will die! He'll die, you fools! You great fools of misfortune!"  
  
A low moan caught Elrond's next words in his throat as he quickly turned to face the bed. For a moment, it was tensely silent. Elrond did not dare to breathe nor move. Gilraeth uttered another small groan before his eyes fluttered and finally . . . finally opened. Gilraeth stirred and weakly lifted his head. His vision was blurred, and so he could not clearly see who stood in his room. He only murmured the name of the one he most desperately wanted to see.  
"Glorfindel . . . Glorfindel . . ." 


	14. The Taking

Review responses:  
  
Furby: Quite all right. *eats special lembas*  
  
Cantora: Fluffy cannot hurt me! Heh . . . but thanks. Poor Elrond.  
  
Erisinia Gazelle: Just wait . . . Glorfy will have his day sooner or later. And yes,  
it was originally three thousand years, not thirty.  
  
Chapter Thirteen  
  
The days following the Elf's and the boy's awakenings were busy. They were gathering strength daily. This involved much rest and as little disturbance as possible, which Elrond, Elrohir, Erestor, and Lindir earnestly saw to. Glorfindel, being an Elf and not have taken as much harm as Gilraeth, was the first to arise. Three days after he'd opened his eyes, he was up and about, doing his regular duties, which included taking up the care of Gilraeth once more.  
For the child, however, it took quite a bit longer. Yet daily, he regained vigor, and everyone saw the slow but steady progress he made. This was mostly due to his relief that Glorfindel was alive and well, as it gave him something to hold on to. The two spent the days talking between themselves, though it was Glorfindel who did most of the speaking. When both had been caught up with their recent "adventures", the Elf told the boy stories; all the great tales he could remember. Gilraeth would rest and listen in blissful content as the Elven lord's soothing voice slowly put him in a state of sub-consciousness.  
Glorfindel also benefited from Gilraeth as he saw him growing stronger day by day. He was staying awake longer, and eating as much as he usually would. Soon he was talking of running freely over the stretches of open ground in Imaldris. Glorfindel understood. It had been so long since either of them had truly had adequate exercise.  
"One day soon," Glorfindel thought to himself when Gilraeth would tell him this, "one day I will run with you then."  
  
That day came sooner than anyone expected. Only three weeks after Gilraeth awoke, he was on his feet and no longer having troubles with his balance. Early that morning, Gilraeth and Glorfindel set out for the more remote places of Imaldris with a few provisions. They trekked through the forest and stopped for a light meal once they emerged into the bright sunlight. There was nothing between them and the river Bruinen but open grass.  
As the boy finished his meal, he sprang up and looked all around at the sea of emerald.  
"Glorfindel . . ." he breathed, his heart pounding in excitement. The Elf stood with him and looked out, fearful that Gilraeth may have spotted danger. But there had not been anxiousness or worry within the boy's voice, nor did he seem concerned. Glorfindel could not see anything that would pose a threat.  
Puzzled, he turned his piercing gaze upon Gilraeth, his brow slightly furrowed. "What is it? What do you see?  
Gilraeth looked to Glorfindel, his brown eyes shining. "Nothing. Nothing. There is nothing else around for miles, Glorfindel!"  
Still not understanding, Glorfindel scanned the horizon once more and then nodded uncertainly. Gilraeth grinned.  
"Wouldn't now be that time to run, as I have been saying?"  
Glorfindel finally got it and smiled back down at the boy. He looked again at the vastness of the lands and then saw exactly what Gilraeth was seeing: nothing at all but freedom. Absolute freedom.  
"Yes, pen-neth," he replied without looking down at Gilraeth. "Now is the time."  
Without warning, Gilraeth took off with such speed that Glorfindel dropped far behind him. In a few moments after his own start, however, Glorfindel matched the boy's pace, and easily could have outrun him with endurance and speed to burn. But he did not want to spoil it for the child, whose sprint was hardly more than a quick jog for the Elf.  
"To the Bruinen!" Gilraeth panted, throwing down the gauntlet.  
With a wry grin, Glorfindel took it up and increased his speed, but only by a few degrees. Gilraeth responded by pouring on his own speed and actually passed the Elf, slowly outdistancing him. Surprised, Glorfindel laughed out loud and stretched his legs to again match the boy. The sound of the falls reached their ears, and both knew it was the home stretch.  
Glorfindel could have won with ease, but Gilraeth was so into the race that the Elf had not the heart to ruin the good mood. And so, pretending he'd spent his energy, Glorfindel dropped behind Gilraeth and met him at the banks of the Bruinen, panting heavily. The smile of triumph upon Gilraeth's face was well worth the "loss".  
"I won over an Elf!" Gilraeth laughed.  
Glorfindel grinned and nodded in acceptance of his defeat. Gilraeth's smile faded then, and he studied the Elf intently. "Did you let me win, Glorfindel?"  
The Elven lord was taken aback at first, but then sighed lightly and nodded. Gilraeth frowned. "Why?"  
"Well . . . you were enjoying yourself so much; I thought it would be best not to spoil the fun. I am sorry."  
Gilraeth's smile returned. He was not put out by such a small thing. He stepped closer to Glorfindel. "How fast can you truly run?"  
Glorfindel laughed. "I can have the speed of the Bruinen if the need arises."  
"Show me?"  
"I'm afraid, Gilraeth, that there would not be much to see once I've gathered speed," Glorfindel answered, arching a brow.  
"I'll keep up!"  
Smiling, Glorfindel turned away from Gilraeth to start, and then looked back. "If we are separated, stay in one place. I will return for you."  
With that, Glorfindel took off and slowly gathered speed. All too soon, Gilraeth found himself stopping, thoroughly out of breath. Glorfindel quickly dropped from sight, and he sat down upon the grass, panting.  
  
Glorfindel did not know when Gilraeth fell behind. All he remembered then was the simply joy of running - his long, flowing strides, the wind through his hair, everything in his body working in perfect synchronization.  
Suddenly, Glorfindel heard a bow sing, and in the next minute, a searing pain ripped through his left calf. With a startled cry, Glorfindel fell forward to the ground and rolled a few times before he stopped. His mind spinning, it took him a second to remember where he was.  
His left leg throbbed, and Glorfindel looked down to a sight that sickened him. He found that the arrow had struck his left calf through the outside, and part of the tip was protruding through the other side. The wound bled, and the grass was turning scarlet with the blood. Glorfindel groaned.  
He took the shaft in his hand and winced. The Elf braced himself, and then in one swift motion, he'd yanked out the intruding arrow. With a shudder, he threw it to the ground. This caused more bleeding. Quickly, Glorfindel took his knife and cut a strip from his cloak and tied it around the wound.  
This done, he took up the arrow again and examined it. Relief flooded through him as he realized it had not been poisoned. But the hurt was still serious. He needed to get back to Imaldris as quickly as possible.  
A terrified scream reached his ears, and Glorfindel's brain screeched to a halt. Gilraeth. Gilraeth was in danger!  
Frantically, he attempted to stand, but his wounded leg could not take any weight. With a painful moan, he fell back to the ground and listened helplessly as Gilraeth's calls for assistance went unaided, certainly not by choice. Anger surged through him, and mostly for himself for being so careless. How could he not have seen the archer? Why did he not think there could be danger, even in the last Homely House?  
"Do not hurt him!" Glorfindel yelled angrily. "Do so, and you shall regret it! Do you understand?!"  
Cruel, harsh laughter came in reply. "The boy will be in good hands, master Elf," shouted a sneering voice. It sounded oddly familiar, but Glorfindel did not trouble himself with it just yet. He heard the sounds of heavy boots trudging away from them, to the West. He also heard Gilraeth's struggling, and his heart went out to the boy. Both sounds faded in the distance within a few moments. Glorfindel heard no more from them again.  
"I will come for you, Gilraeth," Glorfindel murmured under his breath.  
  
He had to get to Imaldris. There was simply no time to be lost. Already he'd lingered too long. Though the healing rate of Elves is much faster than men, his wound was still open to infection. At least with the makeshift bandage, the bleeding had lessened greatly.  
Getting his bearings, Glorfindel found that he'd been shot right at the edge of the forest, near the place where he and the boy had shared their meals. Crawling over to the nearest tree, Glorfindel used it to raise himself to his feet, slowly and carefully. When he stood, most of his weight was upon his right leg. Glorfindel tried a hesitant step with the left, but it was no better. With a strangled cry, he fell back against the tree and sank to the ground.  
He could not walk on his own, or even go from tree to tree. He was losing precious time. Gilraeth needed him. He was in danger. The situation seemed so hopeless. It would be at least an hour before anyone would be sent to look for them, and by that time, who knew which course the archer would take? Gilraeth would be long gone.  
Resolve hardened in him, however. He was not helpless out here. Even still, he could somewhat crawl along the ground, degrading as it was. But he would not get far before night fell. The sun did not have far to go before she rested in darkness once more. An involuntary shudder ran through Glorfindel as he started off at an awkward crawl.  
After only a few minutes of this, he had to stop. The blood loss had made him terribly weak. The hard earth was cutting his hands and upturned roots and fallen branches bruised his knees. He couldn't take much more of this. The thought of Gilraeth, however, pushed him on.  
As he started off again, a twig snapped up ahead. Glorfindel stared through the trees, trying to make out who or what had caused the sound, but it did not come again, and he could find nothing. Leaning against a tree, Glorfindel readied his knife, prepared to defend himself if it came to that. A tense silence followed. Glorfindel sat with bated breath, expecting the worst.  
A short whistle came from above him. Startled, Glorfindel looked up in the branches of the tree and found none other that Elrohir crouched upon one of the thicker limbs.  
  
Glorfindel sighed in relief, too tired for any other emotion. "Elrohir! Am I glad to see you!"  
Elrohir leaped limberly out of the tree, glancing around as his feet hit the ground. "And I, you. Where is the boy?" He noticed Glorfindel's wound. "Whatever happened, Glorfindel?"  
Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "I do not know where Gilraeth is." Then, he quickly explained what little he knew to Elrohir, who had stooped down to examine his wound. As Glorfindel finished, he looked up at him.  
"If I assist you, could you walk?"  
"Yes, I will try."  
Elrohir helped Glorfindel to his feet and put his left arm around his shoulders once he was up. Slowly they made their way back to the halls, each panting from exertion. They heard a horn blow nearby, and Elrohir looked up.  
"They have seen us. They are calling the search party back."  
As soon as they set foot into the healing wing entrance, Elrond, Erestor, and Lindir met them.  
"What happened? Where is the pen-neth?" Elrond asked of them.  
Elrohir, too tired for words, simply shook his head and laid Glorfindel onto an empty bed in the wing. Lindir, Elrond, and Erestor followed, deeply concerned. Elrohir turned and looked wearily to his father.  
"Adar, Gilraeth has been taken. The culprit first wounded Glorfindel and then took the boy. Glorfindel says they started to the West."  
Elrond quizzically looked from his son to Glorfindel, and then went to his friend's side, making preparations to heal him. "If all goes as planned, you should be ready to search for the boy by tomorrow morning," he told Glorfindel as he gathered supplies.  
"Erestor!" he called. "Assemble a search party of thirty five. Have them ready to go before breakfast tomorrow."  
"With the utmost respect, my lord . . ." Erestor started hesitantly.  
"The five of us here shall make forty. Now go!" Elrond hissed.  
Elrohir and Lindir looked on as Erestor quickly left. They were startled out of their semi-trance by Elrond's authoritive call.  
"Lindir!"  
Lindir stepped closer and awaited his orders.  
"Please be ready to get whatever I need for Glorfindel," Elrond said, starting to clean the wound. With a nod, Lindir stood off to one side as Elrond then called his son over. "You go and get some rest. You will need your strength in the morning."  
"What about you, adar? Your energy will be spent once you have healed Glorfindel so quickly."  
"Do not question me, ion-nin!" Elrond snapped. "Go!"  
Slightly hurt, yet understanding all the same, Elrohir glanced once more to Glorfindel and Lindir, then turned and started for his quarters. 


	15. The Hunt

Review responses:  
  
Cantora: Yes, yes, those cliffies are quite nasty sometimes . . . but I luff them!  
*snugs her cliffies* Thank you for your constant reviews!!  
  
Erisinia: Running running running!! MUST RUN!!! O,o Sorry about that . . . glad  
I can get ya pumped about something!  
  
Darlene5: Yes, they do, don't they? But don't worry; soon everything will be all  
right . . . or will it?? DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNN  
  
SilverKnight7: Erm . . . okay . . .  
  
Chapter Fourteen  
  
The sun had just begun to climb over the eastern hills the next morning when the search party reached the spot where Gilraeth had been taken. There, they stopped, and Glorfindel recounted what had happened as far as he knew. As his final words hung in the damp, moisture-ridden air, an ominous silken fell over the group. Each Elf there knew Gilraeth, and of his story. They all held a soft spot in their hearts for the pen-neth. There was a feeling of loss that clung to their hearts as the humidity clung to their skin. But with that loss also came a sense of duty, and for some, anger. It was mostly felt by those who were particularly close to the boy - Elrond, Glorfindel, and Elrohir. But all in the clearing that morning were driven to find Gilraeth at any cost.  
Elrond finally broke the silence with a heavy, weary sigh. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was tired. He had not slept at all last night, using all of his strength to get Glorfindel's leg as mended as completely as possible. However, he would lead the search party until Gilraeth was found, no matter how many sleepless nights he had to endure.  
"All right, then. There are forty here. Spread yourselves out in groups of at least three, if not more. Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Erestor - you come with me. The rest of you get together in your own parties and fan out to either side of my group."  
As he spoke, Glorfindel handed out small horns to groups that had already formed and those that were still being made. He walked with a limp, and there was still need for a bandage under his leggings, but the wound was almost completely healed. This did not, however, inhibit the pain, but Glorfindel said nothing as he finished his task and stood beside Elrohir with a small wince of discomfort.  
"If you party is in danger, or if you find Gilraeth, use these, and someone shall assist you," Elrond continued. Again, silence came over the group, but it only lasted for a second as Elrohir shifted and said, "Well, come on, then! Let's get started!"  
  
Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrohir searched the ground for tracks, though it was a tedious process. The grass was springy and left little marks. However, Elrond was able to spot heavy boot tracks at the edge of the forest, leading west, just as Glorfindel had said. Carefully, they followed the prints, which were none too stealthily placed, and therefore, easy to track. For an hour, the four Elves followed the man's prints, occasionally spotting places where Gilraeth had been set down to walk beside his captor.  
Once, Erestor saw that Gilraeth's tracks ran away from the man's. Glorfindel and Elrohir investigated this while Elrond and Erestor stayed with the main trail. Glorfindel and Elrohir found that Gilraeth had not gotten far before the man's tracks covered them and turned back to the main path. Glorfindel straightened as he found this out and sighed, looking to Elrohir.  
"At least he attempted to escape. I can only hope we come to find Gilraeth before it is too late."  
They joined back up with the others and continued to track the footprints, going as quickly and yet as carefully as they could. They only had brief halts, and those were few and far between. The morning had passed before the first stop. They all sat down, except for Glorfindel, who stood, looking west, deep in thought. Erestor handed out small portions of lembas and water, but Glorfindel refused at first.  
"Glorfindel, you must at least drink something," Elrohir insisted. "You must keep up your strength if we are to find Gilraeth."  
"We need everyone to be as strong and healthy as possible," Erestor added.  
"We cannot risk the chance of you or anyone else becoming tired and weary when we have to power to prevent it," Elrond said softly. "As a group, we are only as strong as each other. If one of us fails, we all fail."  
Glorfindel turned to Elrond, slightly irritated, but trying to keep his anger under control. "And what about you, Elrond?"  
The Peredhel looked up, startled, his brow furrowed. "What?"  
"You did not sleep at all last night, and look at you. You're tired. We can all see it."  
Elrond drew himself up proudly. "Yes, and I'm glad I did not sleep, for your sake. If I didn't spend the time to get that wound healed as much as possible, you would not be here. You would be lying in a bed in the healing wing, worrying yourself sick. I took the risk of being weary today so you could be out here with us, searching for Gilraeth. So do not talk to me about being tired!"  
Glorfindel recoiled at Elrond's sharpness of his last sentence, completely subdued. In silence, he sat down beside Elrohir and took a draught of water and a wafer of lembas from Erestor. No one spoke until Elrohir stood and looked at the group. Erestor seemed torn between his two superiors. Glorfindel was brooding and depressed, and Elrond was uptight and stressed.  
This wasn't good at all. If they did not unite to find Gilraeth, they would be unsuccessful. It was as if they'd quit already, and not because they'd lost hope, but because they were dogging on each other.  
"All right, you've had your time to think," Elrohir said quietly. "Before we continue, Glorfindel . . . father . . . you must stop bickering. Please. It's the only way we can truly come together to find Gilraeth. That is why we are here, after all. It's not about us . . . it is about the boy."  
  
Silence followed Elrohir's words, and the looks he received made him feel uneasy and foolish. He blinked slowly and looked from Elf to Elf. Erestor finally stood and walked until he was beside Elrond's son, looking slightly uneasy, yet unnaturally confident.  
"Elrohir is right. You both must stop this nonsense and think of Gilraeth. For all our sakes, but especially the pen-neth's. Already we have lost precious time just by sitting here. Come now, Elrond . . . Glorfindel . . ."  
The two sitting Elves looked at each other, each subdued by Elrohir's and Erestor's words. Glorfindel offered a small smile, which Elrond returned.  
"My apologies," Glorfindel said, standing and offering a hand to Elrond.  
"I am sorry as well, Glorfindel," Elrond replied, accepting his hand and using it to pull himself up. There was a sense of peace as the four of them came together and started off once more on the trail of Gilraeth.  
  
They kept strictly to the main trail. The sun began her descent before they discovered something new. Glorfindel found that Gilraeth escaped once more from his captor, running north. This time, Erestor and Elrond followed his trail, leaving the others to the main path. Gilraeth had gotten quite far this time. Elrond and Erestor came around a bend, and then Elrond stopped in front of his advisor with a startled cry. Erestor followed his gaze and then gasped out loud.  
There upon the ground was Gilraeth's captor, slain. Elrond recognized him as the man who had been his guest, the same one Glorfindel had sent away from Imaldris after slandering his son. So this was his idea of revenge.  
"Those who seek evil are sure to find it," Erestor murmured, echoing Elrond's thoughts.  
"That is true, Erestor. Yet this is a strange riddle."  
He kneeled upon the ground, where Gilraeth's tracks stopped and new, larger yet lighter tracks took over and ran northwest.  
"Someone slayed the man and took Gilraeth for himself, heading northwest," Elrond continued. "Some further north than us will more than likely find the same tracks."  
Suddenly, the air was broken by a horn call from the north, as if Elrond's words had done the trick. Erestor's and Elrond's heads perked up at this, and they ran in the direction of the horn. Not far behind came Glorfindel and Elrohir. As they ran, the horn continued to sound, not pleadingly, but urgently all the same.  
Soon, the four Elves came upon a group of three others. One of them stepped forward to Elrond.  
"My lord, there are light tracks here, heading for this direction," he motioned. "We followed them a ways, and then they just stopped entirely, as if the person had sprouted wings and flew away."  
More Elves came from every direction, until all forty were assembled once more. All looked to Elrond and Glorfindel for direction.  
"We should make camp for the night," one suggested, who stood close to Elrohir. Glorfindel nodded, and so did Elrond.  
"All right. It would be better to solve this puzzle in the morning light, anyway," Elrond said, looking on as the sun slowly sank behind the western horizon. 


	16. The Discovery

Even before the sun rose, Glorfindel had awakened. His mind was simply too troubled for sleep. The strange situation that they had found last night weighed heavily on his mind as he slightly limped back towards that spot. His sharp eyes studied the ground intently, noting everything he thought would be of use in solving this oddity. As it had been reported before, the new tracks simply stopped and did not continue on. Glorfindel's brow furrowed in puzzlement. How could anybody simply disappear like that without the use of advanced magic?

Glorfindel lowered himself onto his hands and knees to further study the last of the prints before they vanished. At this angle, the Elf found something new. The tracks did not point exactly straight on the path, but very discreetly veered towards the right, towards the tree line. The one they sought had taken care to throw them off track, all right, and it had been done so very carefully. But the determination of the Elves would not be denied.

Glorfindel sprang to his feet as quickly as his healing wound would allow. He glanced back at the camp quickly before bounding in the direction he felt Gilraeth's new captor had taken. Crashing into the trees with reckless abandon, he wildly threw his hands in front of his face to shield it from branches and plants. He wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but he didn't have to worry about that very long.  
He halted suddenly as an echoing chorus of snapping twigs sounded in his ears. Glorfindel attempted to peer through the trees in the direction he thought the noise was coming from. Suddenly, he was almost bowled over as someone ran into him from the left. With a cry of surprise, he looked down at the form that now clung to him and instantly recognized the mop of red hair.

"Gilraeth!"

The boy did not move, but held onto Glorfindel as if his life depended on it and shuddered. The Elf did not need any more encouragement and quickly scooped Gilraeth into his arms, hurrying back out of the woods. All the while, the child trembled in his arms. A wave of anger swept over him. Would this pen-neth never find peace in this world?

Glorfindel was met at the camp by Elrond and Elrohir, who quickly ushered them inside their tent. Glorfindel laid the boy onto Elrond's mat and then knelt beside him. Gilraeth was awake, glancing from Elrohir to Elrond and then to Glorfindel with wide, panicked eyes. All brows furrowed in concern as Gilraeth's trembling body made his almost-timid voice quiver.

"G-get back! All of you! Go away!"  
A single tear slid down Gilraeth's face.

Glorfindel nearly choked back his own tears at this. "Dear boy, it's us…it's me. Glorfindel. Do you not remember Glorfindel? Elrond? Elrohir?"

The two Peredhels continued to stand, looking on with extreme concern. They all could hear the camp awakening, and the Elves moving around. The sun continued to rise, illuminating the tent more and more by the minute.

Gilraeth seemed to consider Glorfindel's words, for he now looked at all of the Elves with a new expression. And then he sat upright, looked once more at Glorfindel, and again flung himself upon the golden-haired Elf. Relief flooded through him as he held the still-shaking boy in his arms. Elrond and Elrohir sighed.

"Elrohir," Elrond said, "go outside and alert them all that we have found our son."  
At the word "son", Elrohir's eyes widened ever so slightly, but as he looked at Glorfindel and Gilraeth, he realized just how important Gilraeth was to him. No, to all of Imladris. Without another word, Elrohir went to obey his father's order.


	17. The Visit

The search party was heading back to the halls of Imladris that same afternoon. Once Elrohir had made Gilraeth's discovery known, a noticeable calm came over every single member of the party. Smiles and laughter were freely exchanged as nearly every Elf in the party approached Gilraeth and talked with him for a length of time. Some visited longer than others, but by the time they reached the Bruinen, the boy had spoken with every member.

When they came to the halls, the party disbanded and headed off to their own quarters, but Glorfindel steered his young ward towards the Hall of Fire. Elrond and Elrohir did not go with them.

The two entered the large room and closed the door behind them. At first, Glorfindel sat in his normal chair, and Gilraeth took another. But after a silent moment of staring at one another, the boy suddenly sprang to his feet and walked over to the Senscechal. He wasted no time in clambering onto the Elf's lap, and then burrowed into Glorfindel's arms and chest.

This was a mild surprise to the Elf-lord, but he held the boy securely and closely, feeling a strange mix of emotions. He was angry with himself for losing this child so easily. He was sad for Gilraeth's many trials in life, and he was frustrated with peace's elusion of the Last Homely House.

There was no need to speak at all, at least for awhile. Eventually, though, Glorfindel gently coaxed the boy to look at him. The firelight illuminated Gilraeth's slightly damp cheeks, and he felt a stab of pain.

"My dear boy . . . what happened?"

Gilraeth frowned slightly, and cast his gaze away, towards the door. "That man took me. He told me it . . . it was because you had spoken badly of him, and this is what we deserved."

"We?"

Gilraeth's brown eyes lighted on Glorfindel's again. "You. Me. Elrond. Everybody."

Glorfindel clenched his jaw at this, but also reminded himself that that man was now dead. "Yes, and what happened then?"

"Well . . .I tried to run a few times. He always caught me. The last time he caught me, he was ready to beat me." Gilraeth's face then brightened. "But the Elladan saved me!"  
Glorfindel nearly fell off his chair. He actually wasn't sure if he had heard the boy correctly. "Elladan? Elladan, you say?"

With a nod of excitement that shook his red locks, Gilraeth exclaimed, "Yes! He did, he came and slew the man, and then he took me away from there. But . . ." Gilraeth's face fell again. "He said he had to leave again. He disguised his tracks as best as he could, so that if anyone else but the Elves were following, it would throw them off the trail. He told me that you would soon come for me, to look for you at dawn. And then . . . he was gone."

The child hung his head.

"It's my fault. I should have urged him to stay, but . . . I couldn't. I felt very sad for his leave-taking, but I also sensed that that was how it had to be." He lifted his head and looked at his caretaker. "Was that right, Glorfindel? Did he really have to leave us again?"

Glorfindel's mind was spinning. If the boy had not with him, and he had found this out, a trip down to the wine cellar would've most definitely been in order! Yes, some wine, maybe a little food, a little more wine, and then some more, and so on and so forth. But alas, he could not, not _yet_.

Elladan had returned! A very short period of time, yes, but he had returned to Arda. Or had it simply been the spirit of the elder twin? The Senecshal did not know for sure. He was tired. No, not tired – drained. Too drained to think about this now. He was sure Gilraeth was as well. But there was one more matter that still pressed him.

"Gilraeth . . . when I brought you into the tent, why did you not recognize any of us?"

The boy's brow furrowed a little bit. "I'm not at all sure. It was if some cloud moved over my eyes, and I could not distinguish a friend from a foe. But I'm all right now, aren't I?"

Glorfindel smiled tiredly. "Yes, pen-neth. You are all right. You are safe." He embraced Gilraeth and held him a few more minutes before they both stood and left the Hall of Fire. Gilraeth bid Glorfindel good night and went to his quarters.

As for the Senecshal, however, he had awakened mentally just enough to remember his idea of a visit to a certain wine cellar . . .


End file.
